


That Thang You Do

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Category: Strange Magic (2015), That Thing You Do! (1996)
Genre: F/M, Potionless - Freeform, Rock and Roll, but i couldn't resist the pun, butterfly bog, sixties au, thang isn't the main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog King works in his grandfather's appliance store by day and plays drums in the basement by night.  It's not a glamourous life, but he's content, for the most part.  Then Roland James and Sunny Lawrence ask him to fill in for their drummer in a talent show, and suddenly he's part of a band that's rocketing towards stardom.<br/>There's a few complications, of course.  His grandfather doesn't approve.  His girlfriend dumps him.  He doesn't like Roland.<br/>And he really likes Roland's girlfriend, Marianne Faye.<br/>What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Big Bad...Bog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roland and Sunny come to Bog with a proposition, which turns out a bit differently from what anyone could expect.

'Ye want me ta do  _what_  now?'

When Roland and Sunny walked into Patterson's Appliance, Bog hadn't been sure what to think. He was familiar with them both, but he didn't hang out with their crowd. Mostly because he was several years older than any of them, and foreign to boot. He suspected they were there to make fun of the merchandise, maybe laugh at the freakishly tall salesman. He certainly hadn't expected  _this._

'Are you hard of hearing or something?' Roland twirled his blonde hair, admiring his reflection in one of the TVs.

Bog glared at him. He'd never really liked Roland James, which was why he couldn't fathom that the man was here apparently asking for his help. 'Ah  _heard_  ye fine. Ah'm just havin' a hard time  _believin'_  it.'

I  _told_  you this would be a waste of time,' Roland muttered to his friend, as if Bog wasn't even there. 'You seriously expect me to believe  _he_  can play  _my_  music?'

The shorter man frowned.  _'Our_  music. And yes, I do. Bog's one of the best drummers in the state.' Sunny turned to Bog. 'You  _do_  still play, don't you?'

'Aye, ev'ry chance Ah get,' he answered absently, stunned by the show of support from a man he barely knew. But then, Sunny Lawrence was a friendly man. Bog wasn't.

'Excellent!' Sunny beamed at him. 'Look, we wouldn't bother you, but it's an emergency! We're playing at the Mercy Hearst College talent show tonight, and Pare – our drummer – broke his arm. You'll be able to pick it up in no time, I know it! I've heard you practice when I pass the store.'

Bog grimaced. His late night practices were a sore point between him and his grandfather, Harry Patterson. As in Patterson's Appliance. But since Harry refused to let him play at the house, they'd settled on the store basement as a reluctant compromise. Of course, Harry was unaware that Bog was using one the store's hi-fi systems to play Dell Paxton records while he practiced. But what Harry didn't know couldn't hurt Bog.

'What's in it fer me?'

Roland, who'd been ignoring them for the most part, broke into the conversation with a leer. 'Like Sunny said, it's at the college. So, college girls. Co-eds! By the fistful!'

Bog frowned. He knew Roland had a girlfriend, Marianne Faye. He'd met her a couple of times, and she seemed really nice. In fact, the only fault he could find in her was that she was dating Roland.

Sunny rolled his eyes. 'More importantly, there'll be  _money._  There's a $100 grand prize for the wining band, so that's $25 bucks apiece.'

Bog whistled appreciatively. He could certainly use the money. Working at the appliance store didn't pay a whole lot, and he needed a couple of parts for his bike. He gazed around the store, considering the offer, and caught Harry's glare.  _That_  could be a problem. There was no way Harry would be supportive of this endeavor. He barely tolerated Bog as it was. It didn't help that he looked exactly like his father. Harry'd never approved of his daughter's marriage and had actively disliked his son-in-law. When Griselda returned to Eerie, Pennsylvania as a widow with a gangly Scottish son in tow, he'd given them a place to live, and even got Bog a job in the store. But he'd made it clear that there would be no grandpa/grandson trips to the ol' fishing hole. Not that Bog had any interest in fishing, anyway.

No, Harry wouldn't approve of Bog taking the afternoon to practice with a garage band. Music was  _not_  an acceptable career path, even if it was just for one day. But…maybe there was a way he could make it up to him.

'Alright gentlemen, here's mah terms. If ye want these magic hands,' he wiggled his fingers, 'ye'll have t'buy two new record needles, and…' he glanced around for inspiration. 'This here clock radio.'

Roland sneered. 'Seriously? How about a washing machine, too?'

Bog shrugged. 'It's $14.95 on sale. But if it's too expensive fer ye…'

Sunny hastily dug out his wallet. 'We'll take it!' He frowned at his friend. 'Come on, Roland. I only have ten bucks on me, and you're loaded.'

'Fine,' Roland grumbled. 'But he better be worth it.'

'Oh, he is. Thanks, Bog! You won't regret this.'

Sighing, Bog rang up the items. 'Ah already do.'

* * *

 

' _I can't take it doing that thing you dooo!'_

Bog fought back a yawn as he hit the crash cymbal. Sunny had been right – the song wasn't hard to pick up at all. In fact, it was pretty boring. Roland insisted it was a ballad, and sang it at an excruciatingly slow tempo. Bog didn't see how they would win with it, but he'd promised, and he would go through with the talent show. He just might not be able to hold his head up in musical circles again. Not that he really hung around in musical circles.

'Very good,' said Sunny. 'Took Pare a week to learn that.'

Thang, the base player, wrinkled his brow. 'Pare? Who's Pare?'

They all stared at him. Bog couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. He seemed a bit of a space cadet, so Bog was inclined to believe he was serious. But that reminded him of something he'd been meaning to ask. 'How'd he break his arm, anyway?'

Sunny snorted. 'He was trying to teach Thang here how to jump parking meters.'

Bog blinked. 'Why?'

Sunny shrugged. 'Beats me. Let's just say it didn't end well for him. But hey, it's good for us! No offence to Pare, but you're a much better drummer.'

'Aye, well. It's not that hard o' a tune.'

'That's what I keep telling Roland. It needs to be faster.' Marianne was at the back of Sunny's garage, throwing darts with deadly accuracy. Bog hadn't thought she'd been paying attention, but apparently multitasking was one of her talents. As was a keen ear for music. Obviously, she knew  _exactly_  what was wrong with the song.

'Buttercup, which one of us is the musician?'

She grimaced at the nickname. 'You are, but-'

'So I'm the one that knows what I'm doing. Besides, baby, I wrote it for you. You're gonna hurt my feelings if you keep criticizing my art.'

She glared at him like she was contemplating throwing her next dart at him, rather than the board. Bog was pretty sure she wouldn't miss, either.

Once again, he wondered how on  _earth_  a girl like Marianne ended up with a…male like Roland. And if he wrote the song for her, it seemed like he didn't have a very high opinion of his own girlfriend. Trying to ease the tension, he said, 'So it's just the one song, yeah?'

Sunny nodded.

'Wunnerful.' He played a brief solo, needing to do  _something_  to offset the boredom of his afternoon. He started to get up, and caught Marianne staring at him. 'What?'

'That's it!'

'Huh?'

'That's it, Bog King!'

'What's it, Marianne Faye?'

She grinned at him. 'The band name. You should be the Wonders!'

He blinked. 'Ye dinnae have a  _name_  yet?'

Sunny jerked a thumb at Roland. ' _Somebody's_  been having a hard time finding a name that properly expresses his artistic genius.'

'Oh, in tha' case, how 'bout the Goblins?'

Roland shuddered. 'No way. That wouldn't suit us at  _all_.' He looked Bog up and down. 'Well, it would suit  _you_.'

Marianne swatted Roland's arm and grinned at Bog. 'That would be cool, too. I almost like it better than the Wonders.'

'Almost?'

'Well, since I came up with the Wonders, I have to be loyal and say I like it better.'

'We  _all_  do, honeybunch.' Roland placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she gave him a goofy smile.

Bog shook his head. He would  _never_  understand women. 'Listen, Ah gotta get back to the store. Ah'll see ya at the show.'

When he pushed open the door to Patterson's, his mother ambushed him. 'Bog! Where have you been?'

'Ah was gettin' ready fer t'night, Mom. What's wrong?'

'Your girlfriend called five times, that's what's wrong! If you keep ignoring her like this, she'll find someone else, and then you'll die sad and alone.'

'Mom, Ah'm pretty sure a couple o' missed calls is not gonna result in mah bein' alone fer th'rest o' mah life. What did she say?'

'She wanted to know what time you're picking her up tonight, and where you're taking her for dinner.'

Oh. Right. Oops?

* * *

 

'Listening to third-rate wanna-be Elvises while eating hot dogs is  _not_  how I wanted to be spending our date, Angus.'

'Ah dinnae think ye can call an all-girl group wanna-be Elvises, Tina. But we're gonna cream them.' Wisely, Bog decided to ignore Tina's insistence on using his given name. He'd tried convincing her to call him Bog when they'd first started dating, but she felt it was uncouth. She didn't seem care that he absolutely  _hated_  his name.

On the other hand, she probably  _was_  justified in being a little miffed with him. The crowded multi-purpose room of the local college wasn't exactly his idea of a great date, either. Nor was listening a string of amateur bands, most of which were quite frankly bad. Like the group currently onstage under the 'Congratulations, Class of '64' banner – Tina's 'wanna-be Elvises'. Although, they seemed to be more like wanna-be Peter, Paul, and Marys or Judy Collinses. They were singing something about a river, and they were ever-so-slightly off key.

'I thought you were going to take me dancing. You  _never_  take me dancing.'

'Ye know Ah'm rubbish at dancin'.'

'But you're a drummer. You're supposed to have rhythm!'

It wasn't the rhythm that was the problem. It was the touching. They may have been dating for six months, but Bog wasn't comfortable touching anyone, even his girlfriend. He liked his personal space. Was that a crime?

'Look, Ah'm sorry about t'night. Ah'll make it up t'ye, Ah promise. Anyway,' he frowned, remembering the afternoon's practice, 'it's only the one night.'

'Bog!' Marianne materialized at his elbow, making him jump. While she wasn't exactly tiny – she barely came up to his shoulder, but he  _was_  close to seven feet tall – she moved like a ghost. 'I've been looking for you everywhere! You've got to go set up!'

'Right, thanks!' He turned to excuse himself from Tina, and noticed she was watching Marianne with narrowed eyes. He wasn't sure what her problem was, and he didn't have time to figure it out. Instead he stood, shoving his plate into her hands. 'Sorry, Ah've gotta go. Tina, this is Marianne. Marianne, this is Tina. Ah'll see you when Ah'm done.'

As he squeezed past, Marianne caught his arm. 'Play it faster!' she hissed.

He thought about it all the way backstage. Speeding it up would  _vastly_  improve the song, and it would give him something to  _do_  besides fighting off boredom-induced oblivion. It might even give them a shot at winning something, because in spite of his bragging to Tina, there was no way they could beat even the all-girl Elvis/Judy Collins wanna-bes with the way they were playing it now.

He couldn't tell anyone beforehand, though. If he warned them, they'd try to stop him. Especially Roland. But he knew they could keep up. Well, he was pretty sure they could keep up. Maybe they could keep up?

This could be a disaster.

Backstage, Sunny was practicing chords, Thang was staring into space (or possibly communicating with Sputnik; it was hard to tell. Was Sputnik still up there, even?), and Roland was in the middle of his critically acclaimed performance of the brooding artist. In other words, everyone was behaving normally. Bog picked up his drumsticks and twirled one absently, calculating what tempo he would need to set to turn That Thing You Do into a halfway decent song.

Finally, it was their turn to go on. The band ahead of them had a fairly good reception, making their chances of winning even slimmer. Roland, being the charming people person he was, insulted the master of ceremonies as they set up. It didn't help that he'd had apparently written their name weird – something about trying to imitate the Beatles – causing the MC to mispronounce it.

Finally, they were ready, just waiting for Bog to set the tempo. He took a deep breath, and hit four beats at twice the speed they'd been practicing before launching into a showy intro. He refused to meet anyone's eye, but he could sense their horror, and he blithely ignored Roland's frantic shouts for him to slow down.

Once their shock wore off, they actually were able to keep up. He was impressed. And relieved.

Even though he was concentrating on the music, improvising wherever he could, he was aware of the crowd. They seemed to be enjoying it, as far as he could tell.

They finished with a flourish and the audience roared. Bog grinned, basking in their adoration. He noticed Thang still looked lost, but he'd pulled through. Besides, Thang always looked a little lost.

Apparently, they'd won. Who'da thunk.

Roland grabbed Bog and pulled him forward. 'That was too fast! What's your problem?!'

'Roland, relax! It sounded great, and they loved it!' Once again, Sunny came to Bog's defense.

'It's supposed to be a ballad!'

'Aye, well, it stinks as a ballad.' Bog crossed his arms, unrepentant. 'It sounds better fast. We wudnae get that reaction if we'd played it the way we did this afternoon.'

A girl handed Thang a trophy that was almost as big as he was, and he held it up in victory. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm knocked his guitar strap loose, and it crashed to the floor. With a pained cry, he shoved the trophy back at the girl and scooped up the bass, cradling it protectively. Bog shook his head. That kid was weird.

A heavyset man forced his way through the crowed and slung an arm around Roland and Sunny's shoulders. 'You guys were amazing! You've got to come play at my restaurant. Come tomorrow night. I'll pay you fifty bucks apiece!'

Roland looked offended, but Bog was intrigued. 'What rest'raunt?'

'Brutus', over by the airport. You'll have the place packed!'

He glanced at Sunny, who nodded. Thang was still hunched over his guitar, stroking it and muttering to himself. It reminded Bog of a character in a book his father used to read to read to him when he was a child in Scotland. What was his name? Gollum, that was it. He should really dig his Tolkien books out of the trunks they'd stored in the attic after the move and read them again.

Bog realized that Brutus was waiting for an answer. Thang didn't seem up for a vote (if they asked him, he'd probably hiss something about the precious), Roland was obviously against it, but Sunny was willing. He figured majority ruled. And hey, it was free money.

'We'll be there.'

* * *

 

After helping to put everything away, Bog ventured into the auditorium to try to find Tina. Instead, he was assaulted by a shortish ninja.

'That was amazing!' Marianne yelled, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him to bend over to keep from supporting her entire weight – not that there was that much of it. 'I knew you could make it sound good. You, Bog King, are an incredible drummer!'

'Uh, thanks, Marianne. Could ye maybe let me go now? Ah'm pretty sure Ah felt somethin' twinge in mah back when ye tackled me.'

'Oh, sorry!' She released him, and he straightened with a snap, cracking his neck for good measure and relieving some of the tension he hadn't even realized had been building up over the course of the evening.

More comfortable, he stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned down at her. 'It's yerself ye should be thankin'. Ah dinnae Ah'd've gone through wi' speedin' it up if ye hadn't've ordered me to.'

She huffed in mock offence, but her amber eyes twinkled at him. 'I don't order. I gently encourage people to see the right path and follow it.'

'Oh, well, then. As long as ye dinnae interfere.'

He was reflecting yet again that she really was too good for Roland, when Tina walked up. He thought she looked a little bored at first, but she threaded her arm through his and stretched up to kiss his cheek. He concentrated on not flinching.

'You were wonderful, Angus honey!' she gushed.

The flinching was a lost cause. 'Thanks, Tina.'

'I can't believe you won.'

'Neither can Ah. And it gets better -' he turned to include Marianne in the conversation – 'the guy that owns th'rest'raunt over by th'airport hired us to play t'morrow night!'

Marianne punched his arm. 'Congratulations!' Apparently, violence was how she showed affection.

Tina glared at Marianne and threw her arms around Bog in a hug. 'I'm so proud of you, Angus!'

Marianne's face said,  _Angus?_

Bog scowled back.  _Don't ask._

She grinned.  _There's no way I'm letting this go. Angus._

Bog sighed and cracked his neck again. Maybe she deserved Roland after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this happened. I started thinking about That Thing You Do recently, and I realized that there are a lot of similarities between it and Strange Magic, at least character-wise. Seeing Strange Magic in every other story you come across is normal, right? No? Just me then. But what is it about Bog and Marianne that lend themselves to reworking over and over?
> 
> For those unfamiliar with That Thing You Do, watch it. It's a good movie - it's funny, and it's got some good music. Essentially, it's the story of the rise and fall of a rock group in the early Sixties.
> 
> I'm using the first names of the characters in Thing for the last names of my characters, except for Bog. Harry is the name of MacGyver's grandfather, and Angus is MacGyver's first name. I know Bog is usually short for something like Boggart, but I've been watching a lot of MacGyver recently, and once I named Harry, it seemed appropriate.
> 
> Sputnik's orbit decayed in 1958, but it seems like people still would have been aware of it in '64. The Hobbit was published in 1937 and The Lord of the Rings in 1954, so if Bog's in his thirties in '64, it's conceivable that his dad would have read them to him as a kid. That means I get to make a Lord of the Rings reference in a story set in the Sixties. It's so nerdtastic!
> 
> I don't know how closely I'm going to follow the movie, mostly because Faye doesn't break up with Jimmy until the end of the movie, and I can't stand to have Marianne and Roland together that long.
> 
> Also, I don't know why, but I get a kick out of writing Bog's accent!


	2. Heard It Through the Grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne drops eaves, but doesn't hear anything good. Meanwhile, Bog has a Bright Idea.

Marianne sighed dreamily as she watched Roland sing. Brutus' was dark, the spotlights on the stage highlighting the way his hair shone. While she realized he had probably made a conscious effort to place himself so that the light would hit just so, he was so good-looking that it didn't really matter. And the way he kept glancing over and winking at her as he sang…it was enough to make any girl's heart flutter.

She was still mildly amazed that, out of all the girls in Eerie,  _she_  was the one dating Roland. She was perfectly aware that she was nothing special, having been told repeatedly in her life that she was… _different_. Her hair was shorter than most, and she cared more about being comfortable than being fashionable. She was more at home in pants than a skirt, and preferred darker colours for her wardrobe and make-up. She loved to read – classics and adventure stories, rather than romances and magazines. When she was little she had made her sister act out stories with her. Dawn was always the damsel in distress, but Marianne was more interested in being the knight or, even better, the dragon.

Wow, she missed Dawn.

When she started dating Roland, she made an effort to tone down some of her eccentricities. She tried to be more fashionable for his sake, since she knew it was almost physically painful for him to be associated with anything less than perfection. She worked hard to be more of a lady and less of a tomboy, although there were days when she borrowed her dad's truck and drove out of town until she hit forest, where she would climb trees and read books and generally be as unladylike as possible. This usually happened when she'd made an attempt to voice an opinion that contradicted Roland's. He was dreamy, but even Marianne had to admit that there were times when he could be vain and somewhat pompous. If she were honest, it made her question if he loved her as much as she loved him. For that matter, it made her question how much she  _actually_  loved him.

But when he smiled at her as if she was the only girl in the room, she was able to push all of her doubts to the back of her mind and simply bask in the glory that was Roland. Sure, he had his faults, but so did she. Nobody was perfect.

The song finished, and there was polite applause. The patrons stirred restlessly as an airplane flew overhead, and she reflected that a restaurant by the airport probably wasn't the best venue for a band, especially one that played mostly ballads. In fact, she was pretty sure she saw Bog stifle a yawn. But then, ballads couldn't be all that interesting for the drummer.

'Table nineteen, your pizza's ready,' Sunny deadpanned. Bog followed up with a rimshot, but their antics were met with stony silence.

She had to admit, she was ready for something a little more up-tempo. The audience seemed to agree, because a kid in the back started yelling for them to play That Thing You Do. Roland looked slightly insulted, but the rest of the band looked relieved, and Bog launched into the intro almost without waiting for anyone's approval.

She was sure Bog, like her and Roland, had his faults, but a lack of self-confidence wasn't among them. At least, not when it came to music. The rest of the time, as far as she could tell, he seemed almost shy, and as self-effacing as a ridiculously tall Scot who dressed like a beatnik could be in Eerie. Which really wasn't all that much. He did have a great ear for music, though. And a surprising sense of humour, which you couldn't tell by looking at him. Especially since he appeared as though his face would crack if he smiled. He was grinning now as he rocked out on the drums, bobbing his head to the music. He really had a rather nice smile, kind of toothy, but it lit up those incredible blue eyes of his…

With a start, Marianne realized she'd been staring at Bog for almost the entire song. Guiltily she turned her attention back to Roland, where it belonged. She wasn't interested in him, she assured herself. He had a girlfriend, and of course she had Roland. Although Bog's girlfriend - what was her name? That's right, Tina. Tina didn't really seem all that into Bog. They were an odd pair. Tina was quite pretty, with fluffy blonde hair and a rather formal air about her, while Bog seemed to be perpetually rumpled and awkward anywhere but behind a drum set. And while he was actually good looking in his own way, he wasn't as obviously handsome as, say, Roland. Although to be fair,  _no one_  was as handsome as Roland.

She grinned, remembering the look on Bog's face when Tina called him Angus. There was a story there, she was sure of it. Although how a person went from Angus to Bog was a mystery, one she intended to solve, one of these days.

It suited him, though.

The restaurant erupted in cheers and applause at the end of the song. Bog and Sunny ate it up, grinning and waving at the crowd. Thang looked like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there, and was half afraid that the mob would turn violent and beat him to death with the complementary breadsticks. Roland looked disgruntled that his ballads didn't receive the same praise as what was rapidly becoming their signature song.

When the band took a break, she made her way to the ladies. She made a show of touching up her lipstick in the mirror, but mostly she wanted to hear what the girls were saying about the band. Each of the boys seemed to have a following, even Thang. Most of the girls preferred Roland, though. But really, how could they not? She laughed to herself, listening to them swoon over his eyes and his hair, and especially the way he twirled that one curl around his finger.

Her amusement soured when one girl spoke up.

'Roland is sooo dreamy! He winked at me at the end of their last set.'

Marianne's hand tightened around her lipstick. The girl sounded smug and obnoxious, not to mention confused and possibly deranged. She couldn't believe the riffraff they let into decent establishments these days.

'Shut up, Chrissy! There's no way he could see you all the way across the room.'

Now there was a girl with sense!

'I know what I'm talking about, Maxine! He even came up to me afterward and bought me a drink. He's going to write a song about me!'

She was about ready to jump up and slug the little twit. How dare she say such things about Roland!

'If that's true, you can have him. I heard he has a girlfriend, and if that's the way he acts when she's not around, well, she should dump him.'

She was starting to feel sick inside. It couldn't be true. Chrissy was just a groupie with delusions of grandeur. Roland would never do that!

Another girl inserted herself into the conversation. 'Personally, I don't know what's so great about Roland. He's too, I dunno, sleeked.'

'"Sleeked" is not a word, Leticia.'

'Is too. It means he knows people are looking at him, and he knows he looks good. He's too slick and artificial for my taste.'

Chrissy sneered. 'I suppose  _you_  like Sunny.'

'Actually, I like Bog.'

'The drummer?' Maxine looked shocked.

'Ew! He's like a giant cockroach!'

Aaand Marianne was ready to slug Chrissy again.

'So he's not as obvious as Roland. I think he's actually better looking, in a rugged kind of way. And those eyes! He's certainly more interesting. Anyway, there's something kind of mysterious about him.'

It was eerie how Leticia echoed Marianne's thoughts from earlier.

'You're right. I like Bog best, too!' Marianne wasn't sure who spoke, but the statement started a war between the girls about which musician was the cutest/most talented/best potential boyfriend. She decided it was probably wise to leave before they became physically violent. Although she was tempted to stay and use the opportunity to break Chrissy's nose.

But that wouldn't be ladylike.

She sighed with regret, thinking that Roland should appreciate the sacrifices she made on his behalf.

Chrissy  _couldn't_  be telling the truth. She was just a lying little-!

* * *

 

'Look guys, money! Even better, extra money! Brutus wants us to come back, and he's willing to bribe us!' Sunny ran up to the table where they were gathered around complementary pizza. Brutus had handed it to them after closing, saying that feeding them was the least he could do after all of the business they had brought in that night. He was cleaning glasses behind the bar, but otherwise the restaurant was deserted.

Bog pulled Sunny into a seat. 'Calm down. Take a breath an' stop talkin' in exclamation points.'

Sunny tried to obey, but he was almost vibrating with excitement. He grabbed a breadstick and attempted to twirl it in his fingers like Bog with his drumsticks, but he lost his grip on it and sent it flying across the table like a poorly-weighted throwing knife. It struck Thang in the forehead, sending him toppling backwards. Marianne, who happened to be walking up to the table, caught him before he could hit the deck and propped him back upright.

'Whoa, Thang. I know it's been a crazy couple of days, but if you want to sleep, maybe the floor of a pizza joint isn't the best place for a nap.'

'I'm not-I didn't-I wasn't-flying killer breadstick!'

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped into the chair next to Roland. 'Yeah, you gotta watch out for those.' She caught sight of the money spread out between Sunny and Bog. 'Oooh, how'd we make out?'

She was looking at the money, so she didn't see Roland's frown at her comment. Bog did. Roland opened his mouth, but Bog answered before he could say anything unfortunate. 'We did alright. Got paid, plus some extra.  _An'_  Sunny says Brutus wants us t'come back.'

She whistled appreciatively. 'Nice! Well done, gentlemen! So…' she wiggled her eyebrows, 'all the girls were talking about you in the bathroom earlier.' Her expression darkened. 'I almost slugged some girl named Chrissy.'

'What? Why?' Bog completely believed that Marianne was capable of slugging somebody, and he pitied the girl that had incurred her wrath. He also had no doubt that she was justified in her ire.

'Chrissy? Chrissy Tompkins?' Of all the people to notice a girl, let alone know her name, Bog wouldn't have though it would be Thang.

Sunny leaned toward Bog and muttered, 'Who?'

Bog shrugged.

'Dark hair, polka-dot dress,' Thang stated matter-of-of-factly.

Marianne frowned at him. 'Yeah, how did you-?' She waved a hand. 'Never mind, not important. What  _is_  important is that she had her eye on my Roland.' She threaded her arms through Roland's and kissed his cheek. Bog tried not to gag. Roland was scribbling something in his notebook and didn't really acknowledge her.

She threw a smile over her shoulder at Bog. 'They had some nice things to say about our drummer, too.'

He hunched into his seat. 'Really? Uh, like what?'

She shrugged and winked. 'I dunno. Something about pretty eyes.'

His ears started burning, and he was grateful for the restaurant's dim lighting. 'Um. Well, tha's, tha's nice.' He grabbed a slice of pizza and stuffed it in his mouth so that he wouldn't have to talk.

Marianne chuckled at his discomfort and rested her head on Roland's shoulder, who impatiently twitched away. 'Do you mind, darlin'? I'm working on a new song and you're kinda interrupting my process here.'

'Oh sorry.' She straightened up and snagged her own slice of pizza. Bog wasn't sure, but he thought her cheeks looked a little red. He glared at Roland, who squinted at his notebook like the oblivious twat he was.

'So, Bog, what happened to Tina? I thought she was coming tonight.'

Bog turned his attention to Sunny – after all, what went on between Marianne and Roland was none of his business. 'Aye, she was. But apparently, she has a really bad toothache. She called th'store – fortunately, Ah answered an' nae mah grandfather, or worse, mah mother - an' said her face was all swollen an' she dinnae want t'be seen in public. Ah think she's goin' ta the dentist t'morrow.' He fished out a breadstick from the basket and took a bite. Not bad for flying killers.

'Maybe she just didn't want to be seen in public with  _you_ ,' Roland muttered nastily.

Bog's fist tightened and the breadstick snapped in half. Imagining it was Roland's neck was somewhat soothing.

Marianne swatted her boyfriend's arm. 'Be nice. He's got just as many fans as you. Besides, you wouldn't have fans at all if he hadn't agreed to play drums. You should appreciate the guy who's propelling you to fame and fortune.'

'Yeah, we wouldn't be playing in a classy joint like this if it weren't for Bog.' Sunny's words were almost drowned out by a plane flying overhead.

Bog snorted. 'Ach, aye, very classy.'

They made sure to consumed every last scrap of food – after all, most of them were still growing. Except Bog. He was so  _done_  with growing. Afterward, they made their way out to the parking lot and their cars.

There were some scraggly, dry-looking bushes in front of the restaurant. As they passed, something launched itself from the bushes into their path. Thang gave a strangled  _eep_  and fainted, and with a high-pitched squeal, Roland grabbed Sunny and tried to hide behind him. Since Sunny was significantly shorter, he didn't make an effective shield. Bog dropped into a crouch, boot camp training coming back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marianne brandishing a branch like a club. He wasn't sure where she'd gotten it, but he really wasn't surprised that she was the only other one of the group to go on the offensive.

'Woah, cool it, man!' A weedy, pimple-faced young man held up his hands, a mildly terrified look in his eyes. Belatedly, Bog realized he'd seen the kid at the talent show the night before, and he was pretty sure this was the one who'd…requested That Thing You Do earlier. Marianne relaxed, although she kept ahold of her stick. Bog straightened up slowly, enjoying the look on the guy's face as Bog loomed over him.

'It's nae  _nice_  to jump out at people like that. Especially at this time o' night. People can get kinda…twitchy.' The groupie swallowed, and Bog grinned. 'Now, why dinnae ye tell us what ye want.'

'Uh, yeah, of course. My name's Templeton. Templeton Peck. I grew up in the area, and I go to school at Mercy Hearst.'

'Ah dinnae need t'hear yer life's story. Can ye get ta the point?'

'Right, sorry. I just wanted to tell you that,' he took a deep breath, 'I love your song I love your music and I want to know where I can get the record.'

No one spoke. Templeton's eyes darted around the group. He gave them a nervous smile, and ran off.

'Well, that was…unexpected.' Marianne rested her stick on her shoulder and placed a hand on her hip.

'Yeah, there's some weird people out here.' Sunny shrugged off Roland and knelt next to Thang. 'Okay, sleeping beauty. Wakey wakey.'

Bog stared across the parking lot, frowning absently. He jumped when Marianne came up and touched his arm. 'You okay, Bog?'

He shook himself and glanced down at her. 'Aye, Ah'm fine, tough girl. It's just, he made me think – maybe it's nae such a crazy idea.'

'Huh?'

'Maybe we should make a record.'

Sunny looked up from Thang, who still looked dazed, but at least he was conscious. Besides, he always looked dazed. 'Seriously?'

'Aye.'

Marianne raised an eyebrow. 'What, like an actual record? A  _record_  record record?'

'Nae, the  _other_  kind o' record.'

Thang got to his feet. 'There's more than one kind of record?'

Bog made a mental note not to use sarcasm around Thang. It just wasn't fair. 'Sorry Thang, Ah was just kiddn'. Ah meant an actual, vinyl record. Marianne could sell them while we play. We might as well make as much money as we can while we can.'

Roland sniffed. 'I don't know that I'm comfortable milking my art for cash.'

Sunny scratched his head. 'How would we even make a record?'

'My dad might be able to help,' offered Marianne.

'That's right, your dad's pastor Bob.'

Now it was Bog's turn to be lost. 'Pastor Bob? Who's pastor Bob?' So this was how Thang felt all the time. He didn't like it.

Marianne smirked. 'My dad,' she said unhelpfully.

He growled. 'Aye, Ah got that part, thanks.'

Thang raised his hand. 'So, how can your dad help us?'

'Oh, her dad's cool. A little uptight, but cool. He records church choirs and stuff like that.'

'So he probably couldn't even handle my music,' Roland interjected. 'And I don't think I'm okay with this.'

Everyone ignored him. 'He wouldn't do it for free,' Marianne cautioned.

Bog affected a shocked look. 'What, not even fer his darlin' daughter?'

She whacked him in the stomach with her stick. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't gentle, either. ' _And_  you'd have to watch your language.'

'Ah always watch mah language.' He resisted the urge to rub his abdomen. She really needed to stop beating him up. 'It helps t'pass the time.'

Roland sneered and crossed his arms. 'Weren't you in the Army? Military people have terrible language.'

Bog rolled his eyes. 'Ah was in the Navy. It's a wee bit different.'

'You're right, it's worse. Haven't you ever heard the expression, "swearing like a sailor?"'

'Ah have. Ah've never put much stock in it. An' it's beside th'point.'

'What was the point?' Thang whispered hoarsely.

Sunny spread his hands. 'Not really sure anymore.'

'The point is that I'll talk to my dad tomorrow, and we can work out a price and a time when you guys can record your song,' Marianne replied before Bog could. It was probably just as well. He was fairly certain she wouldn't appreciate him calling her boyfriend an insufferable git.

Even if it was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, look, foreshadowing!
> 
> Ugh, now I know why most fics start after the big break-up. It's because writing Marianne and Roland as a couple is NO FUN. I've got a specific point where Marianne will see Roland for what he really is (ie: shallow, power hungry, cheating, chattering, pig, SON OF A-!), but it seems so far away right now. *sob*
> 
> I have a headcannon for this story that Bog enlisted in the Navy shortly after he and Griselda moved to Eerie, and was in for 4 years, 2 months, and 28 days. Guy (Bog's TTYD counterpart) was in the Army at some point before the movie, but the Navy's better. I'm not sure how much detail I'll go into, but I've decided that he was an E5 electronics technician (I'm borrowing my dad's rank and job. I don't think he'll mind).


	3. Anything You Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne Faye, in the Garage, with the Dart.
> 
> Nobody dies. (Unfortunately.)

'And now they want to make a record. Bog thinks I can sell copies while they play. So what do think? Can you help?' Marianne hadn't really paused for breath during her story, and now she looked at her father expectantly, bouncing slightly in the visitor's chair in his office.

Bob Faye leaned back in his chair, scratching his beard thoughtfully. 'I think I can arrange something. We'll probably have to set up in the church. I don't think there's any place else that would be suitable.' He smiled at his daughter. 'I must say, Marianne, this is the happiest I've seen you since Dawn left.'

Marianne shifted uncomfortably, drawing her legs up and folding them under her. 'I'm happy. She wanted to be a movie star, and that scholarship grandmother gave her was like a dream come true.'

'That doesn't mean you don't miss her.'

'I do miss her. But I'm sure she's having the time of her life in California. And I've got lots to keep me busy here.'

'Well, I'm glad you're so supportive of your sister. And Roland, too. It's so romantic, the way he includes you in his music.'

She smiled goofily. 'Yeah, romantic.' Her smile dimmed when she recalled the conversation she'd overheard in the restroom, but she shook off her unease. 'So, can I tell the guys you're in?'

'I'm in. I can just imagine the look on some of our members' faces, though. A rock band! In church!'

She laughed. 'Yeah, Dad. What's next, electric guitars as part of the service?'

'The scandal!'

* * *

 

'Angus. _Angus_. Angus! BOG!'

Bog, who had been absently working out the drum part for their new song with a pair of pens for drumsticks, jumped and turn to face his grandfather. Harry stood glaring at him, arms crossed, right index finger tapping rhythmically against his left arm.

'If you're finished vandalizing my desk, we have a store full of appliances out there, and they're not going to sell themselves. You can be the little drummer boy on your own time.' He stared at Bog until the younger man stuck the pens back in their holder.

'Aye, aye, sir.' Bog straightened the collar of his turtleneck and moved into the showroom. He resisted the urge to salute Harry as he went past. He had a feeling such a gesture would not be well received.

Harry followed, finger still tapping. 'I give you a roof over your head and a job, Angus. I don't ask much in return. But I do expect you to be attentive to our customers when you work in my store.'

Bog's gaze drifted around the store, lingering on the sole other occupant, a man who, for the last half hour or so, appeared to be absorbed in watching some puppet science fiction programme on one of the televisions. Bog had the feeling that if he interrupted for any reason other than offering refreshments (would you care for some popcorn and a soda, sir?), the man would leave in an insulted huff.

He turned back to Harry and nodded seriously. 'Aye, sir. Ah will do mah best t'meet the needs o' our many devoted customers.'

Harry's eyes narrowed, trying to determine if Bog was being sarcastic or not. Bog concentrated on looking bland and innocent. Certain that Bog was mocking him but unable to prove it, Harry gave a frustrated grunt and stalked back to his desk.

Bog grinned to himself, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace up and down the store like a captain on the deck of his ship.

The rest of the day moved slowly. He helped the man, Wilmer, adjust the antenna on the TV when the reception became spotty. He told Bog his set at home was broken, and he didn't want to miss his show. Apparently, Wilmer was a devoted follower of Fireball XL5. They discussed the merits of science fiction versus fantasy, and swapped favourite authors.

Later, Bog demonstrated how to hook up a dish washing machine to the faucet on their kitchen sink display for a couple of housewives. Unfortunately, the directions were a little hard to follow, and it took several tries before the fixture would stay in place. Bog could feel Harry glaring at him from the back, and could practically hear his grandfather's finger tapping over his nervous sales pitch. Neither woman bought an appliance.

Even though Harry knew Bog had a practice that evening, he left the store early, instructing Bog to lock up. Fortunately, Griselda showed up a few minutes later.

'Don't worry, Bog. I'll close up. You need to get to practice.'

He bent down to give her a hug. 'Willnae Harry be mad?' It was one thing for Harry to take his temper out on Bog, but there was no way he'd let his grandfather vent his spleen on Griselda.

She reached up and pinched his cheek. 'Pfft. Don't worry about that. Dad's really a big softy, and I'm his favourite daughter.'

Bog straightened so that she could no longer reach his cheek. 'Yer his _only_ daughter. Yer his only kid, fer that matter.'

' _Anyway_ , all I need to do is turn off the lights – and I actually remember to turn off the lights, unlike _some_ people I could mention–'

'One time. Ah fergot ta turn them off _one_ time.'

'-and lock the doors. Easy peasy. Now, go make your mother proud. Girls just _love_ musicians.'

'Mom. Ah'm nae playin' drums ta get a girlfriend. Ah already have a girlfriend, remember?'

'Pfft. That girl doesn't appreciate you. She hasn't even come to any of your performances.'

He hunched his shoulders defensively. 'She came ta the first one. An' it's nae her fault. She cannae help that she has a toothache. It's nae like anyone _wants_ to go the dentist.'

'Pfft. You haven't seen the new dentist, have you?' she muttered.

Bog wiped his eye. 'Mom, can ye please stop goin' _pfft?_ Ah dinnae need another shower t'day.' He thought about the rest of her statement. 'An' what does the new dentist have to do wi' anythin', anyway?'

She shook her head. 'Never mind. You'll find out on your own. And sooner rather than later, I bet. Now shoo! Go make your mother proud!'

'Ah'm goin', Ah'm goin'!' He swooped down and pecked her on her cheek. 'Thanks, Mom!'

* * *

 

The roar of an engine made Marianne look up from her book in time to see Bog pull up outside Sunny's garage. She dropped her book on the couch and walked over to get a better look, letting out an appreciative whistle.

'Nice wheels, Mr. King!'

He pulled off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. Swinging his leg over the bike, he stood up and gave her a little bow. 'Thank'ee kindly, Miss Faye.'

'1960 Triumph Bonneville TR7/A, right?'

He blinked at her in surprise. 'Aye. Ye know motorcycles?'

She grinned at him as she circled the bike. 'I _love_ motorcycles! I'd kill for one of my own, but it doesn't project the right image for the preacher's kid to go flying down the highway on a motorbike. Especially if the preacher's kid is a girl. _Very_ unladylike.' She squatted next to the bike, inspecting the frame. 'I heard they cleared up a lot of the handling issues in the '60 model.'

'Aye, although Ah needed t'stabilize the backbone an' steerin' head. They're prone t'crackin'.'

'You work on your bike yourself?' That was impressive. Was there anything he couldn't do?

'Aye. Ah like tinkerin'. An' besides – it's cheaper than payin' someone else ta do it fer me.'

She elbowed him gently. 'Yeah, 'cause everyone knows what tightwads Scots are.'

He placed a hand on his chest in mock affront. 'How can ye insult mah people so? Ye dinnae hear me talkin' about pushy Americans, do ye?'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Whaddaya mean, "pushy"?'

'Nothin'. Nothin' a'tall. Sooo,' he cracked his neck. She was starting to think he did that as a nervous gesture. It was kind of cute, although it made her own neck hurt. 'Why are ye here by yerself? Where's ev'rybody else?'

'Well, Sunny had to pick Thang up. Something about his car dying due to mushrooms growing in his engine?' She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'They'll be here in a few minutes.'

'An' Roland?'

Right. Roland. Good question, actually. She forced a smile, one that felt more like a fierce baring of teeth. She was surprised that Bog didn't flinch. 'Oh, he'll be here. Funny story, actually – he was supposed to pick me up, but he had to go do something at the last minute. Fortunately, my dad didn't need to use his truck today, so I was able to drive myself over.' She realized she was babbling and cut herself off, shutting her mouth with a snap.

Bog frowned. Rats. He was annoyingly perceptive. 'Are ye alri-'

'Fine! I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? Everything's great. Groovy! Wonderful! Wunderbar!' That triggered a tic of her own, one that only Dawn knew about. Normally she could control it, but she'd been on edge ever since overhearing that conversation. She started singing. ' _Wunderbar, wunderbar! There's our favourite star above! What a bright, shining star! Why it's truly wunderbar!'_ she managed to stop after the first line, cheeks bright red.

Bog looked slightly stunned. 'Uh, d'ye… _often_ sing lines from random musical numbers?'

She laughed awkwardly, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and opted for evasion. 'What, me? Naaah! You wanna play some darts until the others get here?' Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the dart board at the back of the garage.

'Riiight.' His tone as he followed her was unconvinced. 'So, obviously Ah imagined that bit from Kiss Me, Kate just now.'

'Obviously.' She pulled darts from the board, glancing at him sideways. Actually, it was more of an upward slant. 'Maybe _you_ want to explain how you recognized lyrics from Kiss Me, Kate?'

He accepted the darts she handed him. 'We all have our secrets.' He started throwing them at the board, clustering them in the bull's eye.

He was good. Really good. 'Not bad.' She threw her darts in quick succession, making a triangle at the twenty, sixteen, and fifteen.

She wasn't trying to show off. Not at all.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Yer nae so bad yerself.'

'Aw, shucks.' Her false modesty died as she watched him make a perfectly straight line on the horizontal, hand moving in a blur. Apparently she wasn't the only one not showing off. 'Where'd you learn darts?' She waited for him to retrieve his darts, trying to decide how she would top his last throw. And no, she wasn't being competitive.

'Mah mom.'

'Really?' She whipped around to stare at him at the same moment that she threw her last dart, which bounced off the board and impaled itself in the rug next to Bog's shoe. 'Oops. Sorry.'

He eased his foot away from the dart. 'That's alright. Just remind me nae ta distract ye when ye have access ta sharp objects. It might give me brain damage.'

'Your brain is in your big toe?'

He shrugged. 'It doesnae take up much room.'

'Oookay. So your mom, huh? I would've thought your dad.'

'He played too. That's how they met – at a dart competition. She beat him. Actually, she creamed him. He used t'say he fell in love wi' her the minute she won. An' she would say that it took him a long time t'convince her he wasnae a loser an' t'go out wi' him.'

'Awww! That's sweet!' As someone in love herself, Marianne always liked hearing other people's love stories; the sappier the better.

'So how about ye? How'd ye get so good at darts?'

'My sister Dawn and I would practice for hours in the church basement. We could clean up in the local bars, except, well, ya know. If a preacher's kid can't ride a motorcycle, there's no way she can hang around in bars playing darts for cash.' She sighed regretfully. 'Too bad. I could use the money.'

He shook his head. 'Ye're terrifyin'.'

She bobbed a curtsy. 'Thank'ee kindly, Mr. King.'

'An' yer Scottish accent is terrible.'

'Ouch. That hurts. I'm hurt. You're hurtful.'

He opened his mouth, but a yell from the front of the garage cut him off.

'Rest easy, people. We have arrived, and the fun can begin!' Sunny hopped out of his car, did a handstand, and summersaulted to his feet, spreading his arms wide. 'Thank you, thank you. You're too kind. I'll be here all week.'

Marianne and Bog looked at each other, then turned and in unison began clapping slowly.

'You're a fantastic audience.' Sunny bowed with a flourish.

The passenger door of Sunny's car opened and Thang tumbled out, landing in a crumpled heap on the driveway. He put his head between his knees, panting heavily.

Marianne walked over and knelt beside him. 'Thang? Are you okay?' She put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

'Sunny! Madman! Never ride! Certain death!' Thang's words came in gasping breaths, and he looked even more traumatized than usual.

'Do you want to breath into a bag?' She looked at Bog and Sunny. _Do something!_ she mouthed.

'Aw, lighten up, Thang!' Sunny came over and hauled Thang to his feet. 'If you didn't want to ride with me, you shouldn't have started a mushroom farm in your car.' He steered him over to his usual spot, then returned to the car to get his guitar out of the trunk. 'Here, make some pretty music. It'll make you feel better.'

As soon as Thang's hands closed around the guitar, he began tuning and playing chords, muttering about maniacs and mushrooms.

Sunny patted him on the head, then glanced around the room. 'Where's Roland? He's the one that wanted to have a practice today.'

'He'll be here. He's just running a little late.' Marianne had no idea if that was true or not, but it was the best she could come up with.

'Well, while the Roland's away, the rest of us can play. Gather around, children. I've got a song that I'd like to run by you guys.' Without waiting for anyone's okay, Sunny grabbed his guitar and launched into a song. ' _Come on, pretty baby! Put your little hand in mine!'_

It wasn't a complicated song, but it was upbeat and catchy. It didn't take long for Bog to hop behind the drum set and start improvising a beat, and Thang added a bass line. Marianne started bobbing her head to the music, dancing by herself in the back of the garage. When the song ended, she applauded enthusiastically.

'Nice job, guys! Sunny, that's a great song. You have to add it to your set!'

Sunny blushed. 'Thanks, Marianne. It needs some more work, and another guitar and singer wouldn't hurt, but yeah. I'm pleased with it.'

'Don't let Roland take over as lead singer on this one, okay?' Sunny laughed, but Marianne put her hands on his shoulders and bent to look him in the eye. 'I'm serious. I love him and all, but this is your song, and he couldn't put it across like you do.' Never mind the fact that it wasn't Roland's style at _all_.

'Okay?' Sunny looked slightly bewildered by her intensity. She smiled and patted his hair before returning to the dart board. Shrugging, he turned to Thang and Bog. 'Again?'

They were halfway through their third repeat, and the song was coming together nicely when Roland finally graced them with his presence. Marianne didn't hear his car over the music. So when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, it was completely not her fault that she shrieked and whirled around, stopping just before driving her dart through his right ear. She blinked, and quickly turned the movement into throwing her arms around his neck, as if driving pointy objects through her boyfriend's brain was the last thing on her mind. She could see Bog smirking at her over Roland's shoulder. She brandished the dart at him threateningly, and stuck her tongue out when he laughed.

She stepped back keeping her hands on his arms. 'Roland! Finally! Where have you been?'

He eased out of her grasp. 'Aw, sweetheart, you know I don't like you hovering.'

'But–'

He turned to the others, who had stopped playing around the same time Marianne almost committed involuntary manslaughter. 'What was that I heard when I came in?'

Bog's smirk widened. 'Singin', drums, guitar.'

'Funny, Patterson.'

'King.'

'That's what I said. So, not bad, but it could use another guitar and some backup vocals. I assume you wrote it, Sunny? You'll need to give me the lyrics. Can't have the lead singer not knowing the words, right?'

'Actually…' Sunny's eyes darted to Marianne, who nodded encouragingly. He took a deep breath. 'I'm going to be lead on this one. It makes sense, since I wrote it. Anyway, it'll make it easier on you, since you'll have to learn the guitar part, too.' He looked to Marianne again, and she grinned and gave him two thumbs up.

Roland's mouth hung open. She came up next to him and used two fingers to close it gently. 'So, now that I have you all here, I've got news. I talked to my dad yesterday, and he's willing to record your song. You'll have to set up in the church, but it shouldn't be a problem. He's excited to help out.'

Roland slung his arm around her shoulders. 'Well of course he is, darlin'.'

She rolled her eyes and patted his hand. 'He said he could do it as early as tomorrow, if it works for you guys. Personally, I think it's ideal, since it's a Saturday and you wouldn't have to work. What do you think?'

Roland opened his mouth again, probably to protest, but Bog spoke up first. She was starting to think he did that on purpose. 'Aye, that'll be perfect.'

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update's taken so long. Christmas and whatnot. Also, did I mention what a pain it is to write Marianne/Roland?
> 
> Fireball XL5 is the programme Lenny said he watched with his grandmother in TTYD. It's a precursor to the Thunderbirds series (a very sloooow moving show).
> 
> I'm not into motorcycles, but Bog often has one in fan fiction, and it does seem like he'd be more comfortable on a bike than crammed into a car. He'd probably be a truck person, though. Anyway, his bike in this is an ancestor of the Doctor's and Clara's bikes. Because if you're going to incorporate motorcycles, you might as well make a nerdy reference while you're doing it.


	4. Twist and Shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wonders make a record - like, a RECORD record record.  
> Marianne and her dad help.

Bog wasn't sure that he would ever be completely comfortable playing rock n' roll in church – it just seemed _wrong,_ somehow – but after playing through All My Only Dreams for what seemed like the thirty millionth time, he was adjusting. Roland insisted the song had to be just right, and only the collective insistence of everyone else in the room got him to move on the That Thing You Do. Bog understood that Only Dreams was Roland's baby or something, but it _was_ the song for the B side of their record. He was pretty sure they should put most of their effort into the recording of their signature song.

He had to admit, the church had wicked acoustics. He'd never been in a recording studio, but they couldn't have a better set up than what Pastor Bob used. He seemed to know what he was doing, too, which was impressive for a pastor.

Marianne's dad both was and wasn't what Bog had expected. He was barely taller than Marianne, with a generous belly, twinkly green eyes, and a pointy beard. He looked like Santa Claus, except there was too much brown in his hair. When she first introduced him to the band, he'd beamed approvingly at Roland, smiled politely at Sunny, blinked in confusion at Thang, and gaped slightly at Bog. Bog couldn't blame him – everyone gaped slightly the first time they were confronted with Bog's ent-like height. (He often thought he should just cover himself in bark and go live in a hollow tree in the forest somewhere, drinking trippy glowing green water and reciting ridiculously long poems. It would be peaceful).

He hadn't smiled at Bob – Tina told him that his smile made things worse. Repeatedly. He did however try to hunch into a hopefully not-as-threatening height when he shook Bob's hand and thanked him for helping them out. Bob apparently decided he wasn't some kind of ax murderer and nodded back before getting to work on the equipment.

They finally ran through Thing, to get a feel of how the song felt in the space before actually laying down a track. Bog was feeling pretty good about it, and Sunny was obviously having fun. He could tell that Roland was still miffed about Only Dreams, but at least he could turn on the charm when they were actually performing. Even if he did go straight back to pouting as soon as the song was over. Bog looked to Marianne, who'd been watching them with a contemplative expression on her face, instead of bopping her head around like she usually did when they played.

'What d'ye think?' He'd come to respect her input when it came to music. Her observations were often off-the-wall, but always spot-on.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. 'I think Roland should stick in a scream.'

Well. That was definitely off the wall. 'Pardon?'

Her grin widened. 'A scream. You know, like this.' She threw her head back and let loose a screech that would give a banshee nightmares. He imagined the black riders sounded like that when they realized they committed mass murder on a bunch of bolsters, rather than four hobbits. Thang squeaked and tried to hide behind his guitar.

'Why?' He was impressed with her lungs, but he wasn't sure if she was serious or not. Sunny looked intrigued. Roland looked scandalized. Bog wasn't sure if it was because of his girlfriend screaming, or because she suggested he do the same. Probably both. Bob just looked resigned. Come to think of it, he was probably used to this kind of thing. Bog noted that he'd clapped his hands over his ears when Marianne inhaled, so he must have known what was coming. Thanks to his foresight, he was probably the only one of them whose ears weren't ringing.

She shrugged. 'For fun. To be different. To get the rock-n-roll spirit. 'Cause it's groovy. Take your pick.'

Sunny was bouncing in place. 'I like it. We could stick it in at the end of the bridge, right before the instrumental break.'

Marianne pointed at him. 'Now you're talking my language.'

Roland shifted his guitar to his back so that he could cross his arms. 'No.'

Bog rolled his eyes. Trust Roland to be a killjoy.

Marianne seemed to feel the same. 'Oh, c'mon, Roland. Lighten up. It'd be fun.'

'I don't scream.'

Marianne's smile turned evil. 'Well, there was that one time…'

'Marianne-'

'It was the cutest little rabbit.'

'It was a rat. A big one. And you swore never to mention it again.'

'Small and white, with big, floppy ears. It was adorable, and it made you scream like a little girl.' She turned to their audience. 'I almost passed out from laughing so hard.'

Bog put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Somehow, he didn't think laughing at Roland would help the situation. Although he could picture it. He could totally picture it. And it was _hilarious._

Sunny, who usually ended up being the referee in these situations, raised his hand. 'Here's a suggestion: what if Marianne did the scream?'

Marianne blinked, then leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. 'Your speech interests me. Tell me more.'

He shrugged. 'Well, that's pretty much it. Roland sings the bridge, you scream, and then we go into the instrumental break.'

Thang chimed in. 'Roland doesn't want do it anyway.' He grinned and added, 'If he really screams like a girl, it's probably just as well he doesn't.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'So what do _I_ scream like, then?' she asked dangerously. ''Cause, y'know,' she gestured to herself, 'last I checked, I'm a girl, and if you don't want a girly scream on your record, I'm curious to know how you think I sound.'

Thang paled slightly, and Bog couldn't blame him, considering the predatory way Marianne was looking at him. 'Well, I mean, I know you're a girl, and, um, you sound like a girl, except when you scream, not that there's anything wrong with sounding like a girl, or not sounding like a girl, especially when you are a girl, and-'

Bog took pity on Thang and leaned over the drum set to clap a hand over his mouth. 'Ye sound like a banshee, Marianne. It's very impressive, an' ye should be proud o' yerself.'

She gave him a toothy grin. 'A banshee, huh? I like it.'

'Well, _I_ don't.' Roland twirled his hair around a finger and looked at Marianne with sad eyes. Bog concentrated on not gagging. 'It's not ladylike, sweetheart.'

'Roland, my sweet, when have you ever known me to be ladylike?'

Roland opened his mouth, thought for a minute, and closed it again.

She winked and blew him a kiss. 'Exactly.'

Roland mimed catching the kiss and pressing it to his cheek. Sunny turned around and copied him, then mimed retching. Bog and Thang looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Then Bog realized he still had his hand over Thang's mouth – more like covering almost his entire face, leaving just his eyes visible – and quickly let him go, dropping back heavily onto the drum stool. Thang immediately sucked in a deep breath, and Bog twitched guiltily at the realization that he'd been unintentionally smothering one of the only friends he had. Griselda would not be amused. In fact, she would probably yank him down by his arm so that she could smack the back of his head, all the while lecturing him on his sad lack of friends and how he couldn't afford to lose any of them, especially as a result of involuntary manslaughter. He could almost hear her, and the very idea was causing him to tense up. He hunched his shoulders and cracked his neck. Picking up his drumsticks, he extended his arms and twirled the sticks around his fingers. He caught Marianne's eye and smirked at her impressed look. Yeah, he was a man of many talents.

'Sooo,' he said, 'maybe we should let our banshee practice a couple o' times, yeah? Get the timin' right, b'fore we lay the track?'

Roland was grumbling under his breath, but Marianne ignored him and gave Bog a two-fingered salute. 'Groovy! I'm down.'

It took a couple tries to get it right – mostly because Roland wouldn't stop singing in time – but finally they had a smooth transition. Roland would sing _I just can't take it anymore_ and Marianne would lean in and go _Waaaaa!_ She hit it perfectly every time, and seemed to be enjoying screaming into a mic far more than the activity warranted. When they finished playing for the recording, they let the final notes hang in the air for a minute, until Bob took off his headphones and gave a thumbs up.

'That was swingin', man!'

Thang smiled cautiously. 'That's good, right? Swinging's good?'

Marianne shook her head and put a hand over her eyes. 'Dad, what have I told you about using slang?'

'That you think it's adorable?'

'Totally,' she deadpanned, but she was smiling. Bob started to pack up his equipment, and she went to help while Bog and the others started to put away their instruments.

Well, most of the others.

'Wait, that's it?' Roland looked shocked, as if they hadn't spent most of the day playing two songs over and over.

'Yeah, pretty much,' Bob remarked over his shoulder.

'But what about All My Only Dreams?'

Bog was getting really tired of that song. He sat back on his haunches and leveled a _look_ at Roland. 'What _about_ All Mah Only Dreams?'

'We only got the one take.' There was a whiney edge creeping into his voice.

Bog snorted and turned his attention back to clearing the stage. 'Aye, well, if ye'd nae insisted on practicin' it fer three hours, an' then been incapable o' getting' the timin' right on That Thing, maybe we'd've had time t'record it more than once,' he muttered. Thang, who was helping him move equipment, laughed, tried to turn it into a cough, and started choking. Bog thumped him helpfully on the back.

Roland hadn't moved. 'I'd really like to get another take on it. I don't think it was our best work on that song. And Sunny was a little flat on the harmonies.'

Sunny looked up from his guitar case. 'Hey!'

'I want another take. Can't we do one more take, Mr. Faye?' The whiney edge in Roland's voice had matured to full-grown querulous wail. Even Marianne looked shocked.

Pastor Bob blinked at him and smiled uncertainly. 'Sorry Roland, but I'm afraid that won't be possible. The Saturday night prayer group will be coming in soon, and we need all of this cleared away first. Some of our older members might faint if they see an electric guitar in the sanctuary.' He winked at Marianne. 'Right, Butterfly?'

She groaned. 'Dad! Don't call me butterfly!'

'You _are_ my Butterfly. Just like Dawn's my Ladybug.'

Bog made a note to call her butterfly the next time they played darts. He finished with the equipment and walked over to Marianne and her dad. 'Thank ye, Mr. Faye,' he said, offering a hand.

Bob shook it. 'You're welcome, Bog. I enjoyed it. You guys have quite a catchy song.'

Sunny and Thang came over as well. 'When do you think the record will be ready?' Sunny asked as he shook hands as well.

Bob stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'Hebrews 6.15.'

'Huh?'

'And so, after he had patiently endured, Abraham obtained the promise,' Thang supplied helpfully.

'Abraham? Who's Abraham? What does he have to do with our record? When are we getting it?' Roland demanded petulantly.

Bog winced. That couldn't make a good impression on a pastor, especially if you were dating his daughter.

Bob seemed to agree, because he looked at Roland reprovingly. 'Wednesday.'

Marianne threw her arms around Bob's neck and kissed his cheek. 'Thanks, Dad! You're the best!'

'Anything for you, Butterfly.'

'Daaaaad!'

* * *

The following Friday, Marianne was ensconced in a corner booth at Brutus', holding court before an eager crowd of Wonders' fans. A sign over her head proclaimed _That Thing You Do by the Wonders – Only $1!_

People were practically fighting each other to give her their money, and she was making a killing. Her father had given her a box of two hundred records on Wednesday, as promised. She was pretty sure she would be sold out by the end of the night. She felt like a dragon, brooding over the cashbox. Actually, she kind of felt like a dragon most days, but that was beside the point.

'Is this the band playing tonight?' She looked up at the question. The man holding up one of their records was quite a bit older than the rest of her customers. He was heavyset and balding, with a friendly smile.

'Yes, that right. The Wonders – the hottest thing in Eerie!' she felt like it wasn't an exaggeration. After all, they _had_ won the talent show.

'I'll take one.' He held out a dollar.

'Pleasure doing business with you.' She plucked the bill from his hand and added it to the wad of cash she was fondling. Vaguely, she registered him moving off, but the press of eager fans holding out money meant that she didn't have time to dwell.

Later, she proudly spread her take on the table. She took a proprietary interest in those records – after all, she was a featured performer. Thang and Sunny whistled and clapped, and Bog slapped her on the back. 'Nicely done,' he said. Leaning closer, he whispered, 'Butterfly.'

She punched his arm. 'Don't call me butterfly, you overgrown pine cone!'

'Ow! Ye'll break mah arm, ye daft wee fairy!'

'Oh, don't be such a wimp, King!' She wound up to hit him again, just on principal.

He caught her fist and smirked when she stuck her tongue out at him. 'Roland, tell yer girlfriend ta stop beatin' me up.'

Roland looked up from his notebook. 'What? Oh, yes. Good job, Marianne. Thanks for selling our records for us while we worked. Hey guys, I've got a new song I want us to work on at practice tomorrow.'

Bog frowned and glanced sideways at her, but she shrugged and smiled, tugging her fist out of his hand and folding her arms. She'd learned shortly after she started dating Roland that she couldn't expect a musical genius to pay attention to her when he was in the middle of being a musical genius. She didn't mind – she was proud of him and his work.

If her smile was strained, and she sighed internally, well, sometimes she just wished he'd be proud of her work in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I'm trying to get back into a regular writing schedule after Christmas. And having 4 works in progress doesn't help, either :P
> 
> I'm on tumblr - taleasoldastime-andspace. Come say hi! I don't bite, I just gnaw when I get peckish.


	5. Turn Your Radio On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man in a really nice camper puts the Wonders' song on the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so very long. Have a new chapter!

Bog set out the last of the records, stepping back to evaluate the overall effect.  He reached out and tweaked the sign that read ‘That Thing You Do by the Wonders!  Only 49¢’ until it was perfectly straight, then nodded. 

‘Angus!  Quit fiddling around with those records in the window there!  We’re not selling records here, are we?’

He looked up to see Harry glaring at him from the back of the store, arms crossed and telltale finger tapping.  He was mirrored by Bog’s cousin Lizzie – well not really cousin, she was the daughter of Griselda’s cousin, however that made them related.  She definitely got her temperament from Harry’s side of the family.  Bog sighed and waved guiltily, moving away from the display and making a circuit of the empty store to demonstrate that he was being a conscientious salesman.  Harry had been reading the Telemart ad with Griselda, a sure-fire way to get his blood pressure up.  And when his blood pressure was up, he took it out on Bog.  Bog wasn’t sure why he insisted on reading the ad, anyway.  It was almost as if he _liked_ being angry.

A tapping on the window drew him back to the storefront, where a middle-aged man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt had his hands cupped on the glass, peering into the store.  When he saw he had Bog’s attention, he waved.  Hesitantly, Bog waved back.  That didn’t seem to be the response the man was looking for, because he waved again.

Bog pointed to the door.  ‘C’mon in.  We’re open.’

The man shook his head and motioned for Bog to come outside.  Glancing over his shoulder, Bog saw that while Harry had disappeared, Lizzie was still watching him as she swept at the back of the store. He saluted and winked at her, grinning when her eyes narrowed and she did a passable imitation of Harry’s glare.  She would probably rat him out, but in the meantime, he cautiously went outside.  The man met him at the store entrance.

‘Can Ah help ye?’ he asked dubiously.

The man grinned widely.  Too widely.  ‘You’re the drummer, aren’t you?  Of that group I heard last night, the, the…’ he snapped his fingers.  ‘Down at Brutus’.’

Well that explained the grin.  He was a little older than most of their fans, but Bog couldn’t blame him for enjoying good music.  Relaxing a bit, he nodded.  ‘The Wonders.  Aye.’

‘The Wonders.  Right.’  The man stuck out his hand.  ‘Phil Horace.’

Bog shook it.  ‘Bog King.’  They stood awkwardly, Phil still grinning.  Bog cracked his neck.  ‘So, uh, did ye want t’buy one o’ our records?’  He jerked a thumb at the display.  ‘They’re on sale.’

Phil shook his head.  ‘I don’t want to take up anymore of your valuable time.  Would you step into my office please?’  Gesturing for Bog to follow, he led the way to a somewhat decrepit-looking camper that was parked right in front of the store.  Bog winced.  Hopefully Phil would move it before Harry caught sight of it, because otherwise there would be a scene, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

‘Y’know Bog,’ Phil said over his shoulder as he opened the back of his camper, ‘one of the good things about your group is that there’s a nice’ - he waved a hand for emphasis as he climbed inside - ‘natural, raw quality.’  He stuck his head out to grin at Bog.  ‘I like that.’ 

‘Uh, thank ye?’

‘And I wanna tell you, I’ve been around.’  He ducked back into the camper.  ‘And I think this,’ he emerged once more, holding one of their records, ‘is a hit record.’

Bog blinked.  ‘Seriously?’

 

* * *

 

‘I’ve found that a hit record is like a stew,’ Phil remarked conversationally.  ‘All the ingredients have to cook together just right; otherwise it’s just a soup.’

Marianne watched him pass out bowls as he talked.  She had a suspicion the strange man had cooked stew for the express purpose of using it to illustrate his point.  Accepting her bowl, she sniffed at it gingerly.  Sunny and Thang wasted no time digging in.  Bog looked as wary as she was, and Roland ignored his bowl completely.  Shrugging fatalistically, she tried a spoonful.  Not bad.

She’d never seen Bog as excited as he was when he pulled up to practice that afternoon in a weathered-looking camper, not even when they’d won the talent show.  His eyes were shining, and his accent had thickened to the point where he was almost incomprehensible.  Eventually, they got his account of the odd man who wanted to make That Thing You Do a hit record.  It was almost too good to be true.

Sunny and Thang had practically dragged everyone outside to the camper, where Phil was waiting for them to talk over his proposition.  Marianne was a little more hesitant, but it really did sound like a great opportunity for the guys.  The only one who was less than happy with this new development was Roland.  Marianne suspected he was miffed that Phil had approached Bog instead of him, but shook it off.  He had every right to be careful.

He set down the paperwork and crossed his arms, a disgruntled twist to his mouth.  ‘I’m not too sure about this.’

Phil shrugged.  ‘It’s a standard management contract.  It says if I do my job, you guys,’ he waved at the four band members, crammed around his tiny table with Bog’s legs sticking out into the narrow aisle, ‘you guys make money.’

Marianne leaned forward and snagged the papers Roland had discarded.  It said a little bit more than that, but underneath the legal jargon, Phil’s statement was fairly accurate.  She glanced up to catch Bog watching her.  He looked to the contract and back to her, raising an eyebrow.  She nodded infinitesimally.  She’d had experience reading contracts for her dad, and the Wonders could do worse than what Phil was offering.

‘How do we make money?’ Thang asked curiously.

‘Yeah, how?’ Sunny chimed in.  ‘We’ve already got a steady paying gig.  You gonna wrangle us up some more?  Maybe dances, roller rings, Youth for Christ Jamborees…’  He elbowed Thang and laughed.

Phil looked at him levelly.  ‘I’m talking rock and roll shows in Steubenville, Youngstown, Pittsburgh.’  He spread his hands casually.  ‘Places like that.’

Bog grinned.  ‘Really?’

‘Yup.’

Sunny bounced excitedly.  ‘Pittsburgh?’

 ‘Steubenville?’  Thang seemed in awe.

‘And,’ Phil held up the record, ‘how would you like to hear That Thing You Do on the radio?’

Sunny’s hand shot up.  ‘I’d love to.’

‘Aye, sure.’  Bog was trying to act casual, but Marianne could tell from the way his face lit up that he was as eager as Sunny.

‘Well then, leave it to me.  And here’s your guarantee:  If I don’t get this record going, and I mean serious radio airplay inside of a week – ten days at the most,’ he plucked the contract from Marianne’s grasp and held it up to the guys, ‘we’ll tear this thing up, and I’m no longer your manager.’

‘Can you write that into the contract?’ asked Marianne.  Sure, Phil seemed like a nice guy, but there was no harm in being cautious.

He winked at her.  ‘I can see you’re the brains of the operation.  Sure, we can do that.’

Roland sniffed.  ‘I don’t know.  I’m reluctant to sign anything that has to do with my music.’

Sunny rolled his eyes and leaned across Thang to smack Roland upside the head.  ‘ _Our_ music.  And what are you, nuts?’  He waved his arms, nearly elbowing Thang in the face.  ‘A man in a, a, a really nice camper wants to put our song on the radio!’  He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers impatiently.  ‘Gimmie a pen.’  Bog fished a pen out of his pocket and slapped it into Sunny’s hand like it was a scalpel and he was assisting in surgery.  Sunny used it to point at his bandmates.  ‘I’m signing.  You’re signing.  We’re all signing.’

 

* * *

 

As they piled out of the camper, Thang tugged on Bog’s sleeve.  ‘Hey Bog?  Can I talk to you for a minute?’

‘Aye, what’s up?’

Thang plopped onto the couch in Sunny’s garage, and Bog gingerly followed suit.  While Thang fidgeted without speaking, trying to organize his thoughts, Bog absently watched Roland sling an arm around Marianne’s shoulders, causing her to giggle and peck his cheek.  He rolled his eyes at their sappy display, but it did remind him that he needed to give Tina a call.  Between the band and her toothache, it had been far too long since he’d talked to his girlfriend.

‘You were in the Navy, right?’  Thang’s question dragged Bog’s mind back to the present.

‘Aye, Ah was.’

‘Why?  Aren’t you Scottish?’

Bog laughed.  ‘Aye, but mah mom’s an American citizen, so Ah have dual citizenship in th’States and th’UK.  We move ta Erie after mah dad died, an’ Ah got drafted a couple o’ years later.  Besides, Ah served wi’ an Irish guy who was drafted even though he wasnae a citizen.  He was livin’ in th’States on a green card.  He became a citizen, though; said if he was gonna fight fer th’country, he might as well be a citizen.  _Ah_ figured if Ah was gonna be drafted, Ah would choose where Ah served, so Ah enlisted in th’Navy.  Ah was in fer four years, two months, an’ twenty-eight days.’

Thang stared at him in awe.  Bog realized it was probably the longest conversation the two of them had ever shared.  ‘Did you like it?’

‘Aye.  Ah did, actually.’  He raised an eyebrow.  ‘Why th’sudden interest in mah naval career?  Are ye thinkin’ o’ joinin’ up?’

Thang bobbed his head, rattling his teeth in his enthusiasm.  ‘Yeah.  Not the Navy.  I’ve been thinking about joining the Marines, talking to the recruiter downtown.’  He bumped Bog’s arm lightly with his fist.  ‘Can’t make a living playing guitar, right?’

‘Ah see ye’ve been talkin’ t’Harry.’

Thang’s eyes widened comically.  ‘Are you _crazy?!_   Your grandfather _terrifies_ me.’

Bog patted him on the back.  ‘That just shows ye’re an intelligent human bein’.’

 

* * *

 

Marianne was the one who organized them.  She got Bog to supply them with miniature transistor radios – not for free, of course – and she’d charted the most popular music stations and assigned each of them a station to monitor.  After three days of near-constant listening, they’d gotten used to hearing the latest hits in the background as they went about their business.  Maybe that was why Marianne almost didn’t recognize it when the familiar drum intro came on as she was mailing letters on the afternoon of the fourth day.  Her eyes widened as the guitars kicked in, and she nearly swallowed her stamp in her excitement.  Stuffing the letters in the mailbox, she took off down the street, screaming like a banshee.  When she reached the street corner she hesitated, spinning in a circle while continuing to scream.  She needed to find the guys, but she wasn’t sure where any of them were at the moment.  Then she brightened.  While she had no idea where Roland, Sunny, or Thang were, she had a pretty good idea of where Bog would be.  Sucking in another breath, she raced downtown, screaming and dodging around confused and slightly nervous pedestrians.

As she came up on the Army/Navy store, she saw Thang standing at the door, wearing a uniform jacket and admiring his reflection in the store window.  She couldn’t remember at the moment which station he was monitoring, but they obviously weren’t playing That Thing You Do.  He was far too calm, something that she needed to correct immediately.

‘We’re on the radio!’ she screeched.  Thang squealed, jumping three feet straight into the air.  Without giving him time to recover, she pulled out her earphone and jammed it in his ear, grinning as his face lit up.

‘We’re on the radio!’ he yelled, grabbing her arms and spinning them in a circle.

‘We’re on the radio!’ she agreed, retrieving her earphone and continuing her race to Patterson’s.  She glanced over her shoulder to see Thang adjusting the station on his radio before running after her.

He overtook her, turning around to run backward so that they could share their excitement.  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’ he stated.

She grinned widely, concurring with his sentiment.  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’

 

* * *

 

Bog _had_ been listening to his assigned station, but Harry came up behind him and yanked the earphone out, grumbling about listening to the radio when he should be waiting on customers and ordering him to help a couple of ladies who had just come in.  He was explaining the finer points of washing machine colour schemes when he heard distant screaming.  His sales pitch trailed off as the screaming got louder, and he realized it was coming toward the store.  And it sounded vaguely familiar.  He blinked in surprise when Marianne and Thang ran past the window and fell through the door.

‘WE’RE ON THE RADIO!’ they yelled in unison.

‘We’re on th’radio?’ he asked cautiously, although he realized he could faintly hear the familiar song coming from their earphones.

‘WE’RE ON THE RADIO!’ Marianne repeated, and launched herself at him, making him stagger as she wrapped her arms around his neck and screamed into his ear.  He returned the favour, screaming into her ear and twirling her around once before setting her back on her feet and running for the clock radios.  The three of them clustered around the radio, Bog plugging it in while Marianne tuned it and Thang watched over her shoulder, dancing from foot to foot.

When their song came on, they cheered and hugged each other.  Bog could hear Harry complaining in the background, but he didn’t care.  Thang ran over to the large radio in the centre of the store, working the knobs and dials like a professional while Harry yelled at him to keep his grubby hands off the merchandise.  He had to hit the side a couple of times, but then the sound kicked in and the store was flooded with their song.

There was a squeal of breaks, only just loud enough to be heard over the music, and Sunny and Roland threw themselves out of Sunny’s car, leaving it in the middle of the street while they ran to join the impromptu dance party in Patterson’s.  As soon as Marianne caught sight of Roland, who was looking slightly confused, she shrieked and tackled him, kissing him soundly.

Everyone was yelling and jumping around.  Bog was aware that both Harry and Lizzie were glowering from the back of the store, but their disapproval couldn’t dampen his excitement.  He wrapped a long arm around each of Thang and Sunny’s necks, bouncing them once while laughing maniacally.  Soon all five of them were dancing around the big radio, as if it was a bonfire and they were celebrating a pagan ritual.  As the last chords died away, they let out a whoop and collapsed in a messy, happy pile.

Griselda charged from the back of the store, hauling Bog to his feet and squeezing him tightly around the middle.  ‘My boy’s on the radio!  I’m so proud!’

He hugged her back.  ‘Thanks, Mom!’

Without letting go of Bog, she managed to wrangle everyone else into the hug as well.  ‘I’m proud of all of you!’

Bog grinned so wide it felt like his cheeks would split.  It was a good day.

He was still riding that high when he called Tina that night.  ‘Tina!  Did y’hear?  We were on th’ radio!’  It seemed like that was the only thing he could say since Marianne and Thang had crashed into the store.

‘Oh, I can’t believe I missed it.’

‘Well, it played three times this afternoon.’

‘So you said.  But it’s not like I haven’t heard your song, Angus.  I have.’

He pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at it for a minute.  She didn’t sound like she appreciated the enormity of the situation.  Shrugging, he said, ‘Hey, y’know what?  There’s a big rock ‘n roll show this weekend in Pittsburgh.  Guess who’s playin’?’  He grinned, imagining Tina cheering him on while they played to a packed house.

‘This weekend?  Oh, you won’t believe what I have to do.  You remember my toothache?  Well, I’m getting the crown replaced on my number three molar, and it’s going to take all day at the dentist.’  Strangely, she didn’t sound upset about it.

He frowned.  Griselda had mentioned something about the new dentist, but he couldn’t remember what it was.  ‘All day?  At th’ _dentist?_ ’

She hummed distractedly, and he could hear rustling on the other end of the line.

‘Ye’re gonna miss a whole bunch o’ screamin’ fans goin’ crazy over yers truly!’  Bog didn’t drink, but he had to wonder if this giddy feeling was anything like being drunk.  He felt uncommonly friendly toward the world.

‘I think I’ll survive.  Anyway, I’m tired, so talk to you soon.  Don’t get into any trouble down there in Pittsburgh.’

‘Eh, y’know me, Tina.  Ah never do.’

A loud whine came over the line, and he winced.  ‘Tina?  Hello?’  There was no answer, just the howl of what sounded like a hairdryer.  He shrugged, replacing the handset.  Tina might not appreciate the importance of the day’s events, but he wouldn’t let her indifference ruin his mood.  He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head and grinning at the ceiling.  It was a good day, and the weekend would be even better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sorely tempted to rechristen Phil Horace to Phil Coulson, because I kept writing Coulson, but I decided that would be too confusing. The Irish guy Bog served with is my dad, and the main reason that Bog is in the Navy rather than the Army like Guy. Most of this chapter feels kind of meh, but it's necessary. And it gets me back into the story.  
> More importantly, it's one chapter closer to that glorious day when Marianne drops Roland's cheating carcass.


	6. Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang travels to Pittsburgh for a concert, which goes absolutely swimmingly *cough* not *cough* But they make a new friend, so it's all good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes head into the void and waves* Heeey! Contrary to popular belief, I haven't abandoned this fic. I've just been dealing with a slew of fun and entertaining Life Issues, such as loosing my job and living situation, moving, trying to find work, and the latest - and my personal favourite - fighting pneumonia. Good times.  
> And apparently I deal with stress by writing Darcy Lewis soulmate fics while ignoring my WIPs. I'm not sure why one is easier to write than the other, but there it is. But hey, have a chapter!

Bog was late.  He was supposed to have met everyone at Phil’s camper ten minutes ago, but Harry kept finding things for him to do in the store.  Nothing particularly important, mind you, just lots of little things that had Bog ready to pull out his hair.  That wouldn’t have been pretty at all.  Yes, there were men who could carry the bald look and wear it well.  Yul Brynner came to mind.

Bog was no Yul Brynner.

Fortunately for all concerned, Griselda stepped in before Bog could qualify to audition as Yul Brynner’s younger, much scarier-looking brother in a Magnificent Seven sequel.  She distracted Harry and freed Bog to go running to meet the camper so that they could _finally_ get on the road to Pittsburg and rock and roll concert stardom.  With his hair intact, no less.

He was so focused on getting to the camper that he never saw the couple until he plowed into them.  Even then, he might not have registered anything beyond making sure they weren’t injured and apologizing profusely, but a horrified _‘Angus?’_ made him stop and take a second look.

‘Tina?  What’re you…’  He blinked rapidly as his mind stopped running ahead to the camper and finally registered what was in front of him.  Tina, holding the arm of a man he’d never seen before.  A man that had Tina’s lipstick all over his face.  Bog’s eyes flicked between the pair, then drifted up slowly to note the sign for the dentist’s office overhead.  He looked back at the man.  ‘Uh.  You must be th’ new dentist Ah’ve heard so much about.’  Mechanically, he held out a hand, waiting until the man warily stuck out his own before shaking it briefly.  ‘Well.  Ah’m sure you’ll be very happy t’gether.  As you can see, Ah’m in a bit of a rush, so…’  He turned, ready to continue his mad dash down the street.  Only now it was less about getting to the camper and more about getting _away._

Tina grabbed his arm.  ‘Wait, Angus, don’t you think we should talk about this?’

He raised an eyebrow.  ‘What’s t’talk about?  You’ve obviously found someone new, an’ Ah _really_ have somewhere Ah need t’be right now.’

‘I just want to make sure we’re okay.’

He blinked again.  ‘Okay?  No, we’re not okay.  But then, there isn’t really a “we” t’be okay anymore, is there?’  Carefully, he pulled her hand off his arm, holding it for a moment in his own.  ‘Ah just…why didn’t you tell me?’

She shrugged.  ‘I didn’t know how.’  Tugging her hand free, she crossed her arms defensively.  ‘Besides, we never talk anymore.’

‘We talked on th’phone two days—you know what, never mind.’  Leaning forward, he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead.  ‘Ah hope you’ll be happy t’gether.  Ah’ve got t’go.’  He nodded at the dentist.  ‘It was nice t’meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ he replied faintly.

‘Angus—’

‘So long, Tina.’  Bog turned and continued running down the street.  He didn’t stop until he reached the camper, wrenching the back door open and throwing himself on an empty seat.

He was immediately blasted with demands to know where he’d been and what had taken him so long and did he even _care_ how late they were now?  He crossed his arms and hunched into his seat.  ‘Ah _don’t_ want t’talk about it.’  Rather than make eye contact with anyone, he focused fiercely on the toes of his shoes, letting their voices wash over him.  Roland especially was becoming increasingly shrill in his demands, until Marianne finally calmed him down by reminding him that he needed to save his voice for the concert.  That shut him up almost instantly, and he refused to say another word for the entirety of the road trip.

Bog could feel Marianne looking at him periodically, but he refused to raise his eyes from his shoes, and she didn’t try to talk to him.  For that, he was grateful.

* * *

 

Marianne suspected whatever had happened to Bog that morning was an Omen of Things to Come, because the concert went about as well as she estimated the rest of his day had gone.  Which was to say, it was an utter disaster.

On reaching the theatre, they had been unceremoniously dumped in a seedy dressing room to wait for their turn to do a sound check.  Bog passed the time brooding in a corner, while Thang did nervous push-ups and Sunny drew on the Boss Vic Koss posters.  Roland still refused to talk, and made Marianne act as the interpreter for his weird form of sign language.  Phil disappeared completely, no doubt intent on schmoozing with other manager-types.

The backstage crew seemed to be having trouble with the equipment during the sound check, which made it difficult to set up their instruments and run through the song.  Bog’s mood because progressively darker, until he lurked behind the drumset like a skinny gargoyle.  Roland became steadily more hysterical, while Thang slowly devolved into a vibrating mass of nerves.  Even Sunny was twitchy.  He tried to play it off by fidgeting with the equipment, which nearly resulted in a broken mic.  Marianne was the only sane one, and she tried her best to keep the rest of them calm.  But with four guys descending into various and distinct states of madness, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do.

Nothing but stand next to Phil in the wings, watching in horrified fascination as the Wonders gave the absolute worst performance of their short career.

Back in the dressing room, Roland threw himself onto the threadbare couch with his back to the room at large, refusing to acknowledge the existence of anyone else in the vicinity.  Thang went back to push-ups, and Sunny went back to petty vandalism.  Bog stormed out of the theatre, hands shoved in his pockets.  Marianne traded glances with Phil, and they both followed him.  He seemed the most likely to be a danger to himself and others, at this point.

‘Bog, wait!’ she yelled, trotting to catch up.  She could hear Phil wheezing slightly behind her.  ‘C’mon, it wasn’t that bad,’ she said, and winced as he turned and leveled her with a _look._

‘Were we at different concerts, then?  ‘Cause th’one _Ah_ was at was terrible.  Roland was so off-key he couldn’t even hear it, _Ah_ was so off-beat Ah was playin’ in a different meter, an’ Ah’m pretty sure Thang forgot how t’play guitar completely.  Sunny might’ve actually been okay, except his mic never came on, so nobody could hear him anyway.’

She smiled weakly.  ‘Ah, yeah.  It wasn’t one of your best performances.’

‘They booed us off th’stage!’

Phil caught up and leaned heavily on Bog’s arm.  ‘You can’t let a tepid reaction from one matinee house affect your dedication to the band,’ he said bracingly and only slightly out of breath.

‘In what country is getting booed offstage a “tepid reaction”?!’

Phil patted his arm and straightened up.  ‘You’ll get it all back tonight, I promise you.’

Marianne nodded encouragingly, but Bog just scowled.  ‘If it’s all th’same t’you, Ah’d rather just shove mah drumsticks into mah brain through mah ears an’ be done wi’ it.’

‘Nonsense!  You know what you need?  You need to sample the exotic cuisine of the Far East.’

Marianne kept nodding.  ‘Yes, exactly!’  Then she registered what Phil had said.  ‘Wait, what?’

‘What do you say?’  Phil slung an arm around Bog and Marianne’s shoulders, steering them into the Chinese restaurant.  ‘Come on—I’m buying!’

‘Ah’m not hungry,’ Bog muttered petulantly.

Marianne leaned forward around Phil to look him in the eye.  ‘Somehow, I get the feeling our hunger or lack thereof is entirely irrelevant.’

Phil was ignoring them both in favour of grinning at the back corner of the restaurant.  ‘Well, son of a gun.  We’re right on time.’

Bog planted his feet and refused to move another inch. ‘Eh?’

Marianne blinked at the corner.  ‘Likewise.’

At the corner table, eyes closed as if she was meditating, was a small, blue woman.  Literally, she was blue.  She was wearing a blue suit, bright blue eyeshadow on lids that were magnified by blue-framed, cat-eye glasses…even her hair was pleasant shade of baby blue.  Marianne wasn’t sure if she should feel soothed or depressed.

Phil approached the table and cleared his throat.  The woman’s eyes drifted opened and focused on the trio.  She screamed.  Marianne and Bog jumped in unison, but Phil just grinned.

The woman put a hand over her heart.  ‘Goodness me, Phil!  How many times have I told you—don’t sneak up on me!’

‘Ah, you love it!  Helps you know you’re still alive.’

‘I won’t _be_ alive if you give me a heart attack,’ she responded tartly.  ‘Now,’ she crossed her arms, ‘are you going to introduce me to these young people, or are they just going to stand around looking uncomfortable?’

Phil drew them forward, pushing them gently into the empty chairs before seating himself.  ‘Miss Plum, this is Marianne Faye, and _this_ is Bog King.’

Miss Plum nodded, but didn’t say anything.  Bog nodded back, and Marianne waved awkwardly.

Phil looked at Marianne and Bog.  ‘Miss Plum is with Dark Forest Records,’ he said, as if that explained everything.  ‘She just happened to be in town and caught the show this afternoon.’

Bog made a strangled noise.  Judging by the look on his face, Marianne got the feeling he was revisiting the whole drumsticks-in-brain idea.

‘Nevertheless,’ Phil continued, as if Bog had actually spoken, ‘I think she wants to talk business with you.’  He leaned back in his chair and looked expectantly at Miss Plum.

She leaned forward, folding her hands and placing them on the table.  ‘Well.  I have heard your record, Bog, and I like it.’  She grinned, wide and vaguely unnerving.  ‘I like it a lot!  That Thing You Do, it’s snappy!’  She started snapping her fingers for emphasis, until it looked like she was on the verge of dancing in her seat.

Bog cleared his throat.  ‘Aye.  Snappy.’

She seemed to calm down.  ‘Right.  Anyway, it’s a hit record.  We’d like to release it, and add the Wonders to the Dark Forest cavern of luminaries.’

Marianne blinked.  ‘Just like that?’

Miss Plum jumped, as if she had forgotten Marianne was there.  ‘Some papers will have to be signed, of course, and I’ll need the master recording tapes.  And,’ she patted Phil on the arm, ‘you’ll have to say goodbye to Phil here.’

Marianne sucked in a breath, at the same time Bog yelped, ‘What?!  But Phil’s our manager!’

Phil shook his head.  ‘Not anymore.  Look, my work here is done.  Miss Plum and the Dark Forest are gonna take real good care of you.’

Bog glanced at Marianne.  ‘Well, what if we don’t wanna be wi’ th’Dark Forest?’  He turned back to Miss Plum with a shrug.  ‘Ah mean, Ah dunno.  No offence or anythin’.’

Miss Plum lifted a shoulder.  ‘None taken.  Hey, if you want to stick around Pittsburg and play little concerts, Phil here’s your man.  Doesn’t matter to me.’

Phil was practically vibrating in his seat.  ‘Now just a minute, Bog!  The Dark Forest has a show touring state fairs.  This is the big-time!’

Marianne poked Bog’s arm.  ‘Hey, at least you could take a look at the contract before you make a decision.  I mean, going on tour, man!  Couldn’t hurt, right?’

Miss Plum raised an eyebrow.  ‘I’m sorry, but who are you, exactly?’

Marianne opened her mouth, but shut it again with a grimace.  Somehow, she didn’t think saying she was ‘Roland—the lead singer’s—girlfriend’ would be all that impressive.  ‘Um, I’m sort of an assistant manager?  I’m good with contracts, and I sell the records.  And, uh, I’m the scream on the recording of That Thing You Do.’

Bog grinned, and she realized that it was the lightest his expression had looked all day.  ‘It was her idea t’have th’scream on th’record in th’first place.’

Miss Plum nodded.  ‘Fair enough.  Well, if you want to go on tour with the boys, you can be their costume mistress.’

Marianne blinked.  ‘Me?  Go on tour?  I could do that?’

Phil slapped her on the back.  ‘You _do_ have a knack for keeping the boys’ heads screwed on straight.  I think it’d be good for all of you.’

Bog nodded.  ‘Aye, we’ll need t’talk about tourin’ wi’everyone else, but ye’re just as much a member of th’band as th’rest o’ us.  Hey, you were part o’ the band before _Ah_ was.’

Phil winked at Miss Plum.  ‘See?  What’d I tell you—smart.’

She nodded, hands clasped under her chin.  ‘And they’re so cute together, too.  It’d be a shame to break them up.  Long-distance relationships are so hard.’

Marianne looked blankly at Bog, who shrugged back.  They both turned to face Miss Plum, then froze.  Slowly, their heads turned back to each other.

‘What?!’ shrieked Marianne.

Bog squawked ‘No!  We’re not together!’

‘I’m dating Roland!’

‘We’re just friends!’

‘Really, really good friends!’

‘Just like Sunny!’

‘And Thang!’

Miss Plum held up her hands in a placating manner, while Phil snickered into his hand.  ‘Whoa, sorry.  I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive subject.’

Marianne and Bog crossed their arms.  ‘I’m not sensitive,’ they said in stereo.

Miss Plum blinked.  ‘Okey dokey, then.  So, the rest of the band?’

* * *

 

‘So Dark Forest will be releasing the record nationally, but y’all will be doing an awful lot of promoting as you go, so be prepared.’  Miss Plum was reading from a clipboard as she marched up and down the length of their dressing room.  She looked like a tiny blue general, preparing her troops for battle.

Come to think of it, that’s exactly what she was.

Roland, who was actually sitting on the couch now instead of sprawling over it like an oversized baby, raised a hand.  ‘All My Only Dreams is on the b-side?’

Miss Plum eyed him, squinted at her clipboard, and looked up again.  ‘Yes, uh, Ronald?’

‘It’s Roland, actually.  We only got the one take—’

Sunny leaned over to Bog.  ‘And why did we only get one take?  Oh, that’s right.  Because _somebody_ insisted on playing it over and over until we ran out of time.’

‘—and I was wondering if we could re-record it?’ Roland finished with a glare as Bog snickered.

Miss Plum looked Roland up and down.  ‘No.’

‘But—’

‘It sounds fine the way it is.  Moving on,’ she said as Roland opened his mouth again.  ‘Y’all are going to get new clothes.  Matching suits, I think.  Nice suits, because you’re nice boys.’  She paused in front of Bog, where he perched on one of the counters.  Even half sitting as he was, the top of her head barely came up to his chest.  ‘Except maybe for you,’ she said contemplatively, pointing at him with her pen.

Sunny, Thang, and Marianne started cackling, while Bog turned bright red and tried to retract his head into his turtleneck.

Roland sniffed.  ‘So when do we cut our next record?’

‘Touring is the priority right now, Richard.’

‘Roland.’

‘We’re going to meet up with the rest of the Dark Forest denizens in Columbus, and y’all will be on the road until Labor Day.’

‘Not me,’ Thang interjected quietly.

Miss Plum stared at him.  ‘Is this a mutiny already?  I didn’t even get the chance to pull out my Captain Bligh routine.’

Thang tapped his pointer fingers together.  ‘No, it’s just, I uh, I joined the United States Marines back home, and I have to report to South Carolina at the end of August, so, well, I have to leave the band at the end of August, and, um…’ he trailed off uncertainly.

Roland threw a pencil at him.  ‘You’re leaving the band to be a _soldier?_ ’ he demanded, as if Thang had personally insulted him.

Bog glared.  ‘Leave him alone, Roland.  If he wants t’join th’Marines, that’s his decision.’

Miss Plum looked at Thang over her glasses.  ‘But you _will_ be with the band until the end of August, yes?’ she asked slowly.

Thang nodded rapidly.  ‘Yes.  Yes, ma’am!’

‘Alrighty then.’  She looked at her clipboard again.  ‘Well, I think that’s everything.  Do try to do better tonight than you did today, will you?  For me?  Swell.  I’m going to have a chat with Boss Vic Koss and make sure your equipment works this time.  Oh, and Bog—’ she paused in the doorway, fishing something out of her jacket.  ‘See what the world looks like through these.’ 

Bog reflexively caught the object she tossed him, looking down to see a pair of dark sunglasses.  He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in spite of himself.

‘And you!’  Miss Plum jabbed a finger at Thang, making him jump back with a strangled _eep!_   She grinned.  ‘Semper fi.’

Thang deflated into a relieved puddle on the floor.

Bog slipped the glasses on and turned to eye himself in the mirror.  ‘What d’ya think, guys?’

Sunny gave him two thumbs up, and Marianne grinned.  ‘The chicks will dig it, Bog.’

Roland crossed his arms and pouted.  ‘Why does _Bog_ get to be the bad boy?  I’m the lead singer.  _I_ should be the bad boy.’

Marianne unfolded herself from her perch on the counter to sit down beside him, pecking him on the cheek.  ‘Roland, honey, I’m sorry, but golden hair and classic good looks do not a bad boy make.  But don’t fret—I love you anyway.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. White shipped Guy and Faye from day one. Fight me.
> 
> There is absolutely no one more suited to be Mr. White than Sugar Plum. Mysterious, possibly insane, definitely manipulative - for crying out loud, they're both named after colours! It's going to be interesting coming up with different ways to describe the Dark Forest gang, though. Somehow I feel that 'stable of artists' and 'galaxy of stars' isn't going to cut it.
> 
> So, Operation Free the OTP So They Can Actually Become the OTP is FINALLY underway. I think we're two, maybe three at the most chapters away from the big reveal, AKA Roland shows his true, cheating-jerk colours. I've already got the post-break-up chapter written. I've been sitting on it for SO LONG, but we're nearly there now.
> 
> Oh, you might notice I'm trying to tone down Bog's accent a little. I got carried away in the beginning, and now I'm trying to dial it back a little. Probably won't go back and fix the early chapters, though. I'm lazy.
> 
> Come [shoot the breeze](https://taleasoldastime-andspace.tumblr.com/ask) on my tumblr. I promise I don't bite. I just nibble a little when I get peckish.


End file.
